Now that we're past Labor Day, not only is my 80% black wardrobe back in style, but a Facebook friend who shall remain nameless asks, "Is it too early to put up my Christmas tree?"

I say go ahead, but don't forget to come to SalineOWeen. (Plug coming: Details at SalineOWeen.com.)
Traversing the local Web, I see some other October activity afoot. Something called Field of Screams. It apparently has diddly to do with baseball and Kevin Costner, but instead, a creepy legend of foul origin, beckoning you to enter, using your wits either to help solve the mystery of the Field of Screams, or leave them behind, lonely and soaking said screamy fields. Boo! See details at fieldofscreams.com.

Guess what other season is upon us. Yes! The annual "Car Dealers Scramble To Purge Old Models" season. This is bliss for someone who has been looking for a car, a sweet deal on a car, someone who didn't qualify for the "Cash For Clunkers" program, someone who didn't have their school loan yet (Legal Department: Kids, it's illegal to spend your school loan money on a buying car.) This season is not, however, bliss if she looked up the price including her teenage son on the car insurance plan and discovered that, no - that wasn't the six month quote she was looking at online, it was the monthly payment.

How on earth did my parents do this? Guitarist Ian assured me that a Moped was unacceptable in both humiliation garnering ability and Marshall stack carrying aptitude. I leveraged his decent argument with the fact that for any place that required this stack, he would be with Dustin, the bass player, who drives an SUV. Later, I even decided that rental trucks don't cost much for a night, and are readily accessible if planned for properly. It was probably good that I didn't think of it at the moment, since the laughter induced from the bit about budding rockstars planning something in advance would have given us both a mutual facial of spewy goodness from the inevitable lip-splosions.

Okay but back to the present. Yes, here. In the now. It's still summer out there, baby. The clouds are in the sky and we even saw rain droplets in the afternoon, but the Arkansas humidity has yet to ride into the sunset. I give you a scene from earlier in the week: Entering the side door of the office, the air conditioning hit my forehead and upper cheeks so that I half-closed my eyes, even as a stranger walked next to me. The a/c left me once I boarded the elevator. So hot out, I opted for a pony tail. I'm in the restroom in front of the mirror, holding my purse with my left hand and digging for a hair elastic with the right. The long-strapped, no-flap purse kept swinging and flopping closed. I didn't want to put it in the sink and get the bottom of it wet, in addition to who knows what evil germs. It seemed that balancing the purse on the edges between the two square sinks would do. I re-gathered my hair to be sure this was what I wanted. Meanwhile the purse slowly leaned back and came to rest… directly under the automatic foam soap squirter.

Yes. "Guzhhurrrrrrt!" Said the squirter, introducing the foam into my purse.

My face contorted in a horseshoe shape."Aarrgh!" I'm not a pirate or Charlie Brown, I just wanted to keep that Business After Hours dinner receipt to claim on my taxes.

After brown-paper-toweling the receipt, I lowered my standards to put the purse in the sink… just… so. Now I'm digging, digging for some kind of a thing to keep the steamy mane off my neck and waZZAM! A rubber band busy holding several business cards neatly together is about to be reassigned to The Strands.

Yeah baby. Round and round to make a tight… waBAPP! A rubber band busy holding no strands and verily, not rather itself together. Trash.

Completion of this scene is a visitor in the office as I stand 3 feet away, groping in the cabinet, purse over one shoulder, other elbow high with manually held ponytail gravity.

This column originally ran in the Benton Courier on September 13, 2009. See more of Shelli's columns.